These Works Of Art Called Erik's Hands
by GerryPhan
Summary: COMPLETED and REVISED. Christine tries to help ease Erik's nerves with an aplogy and a hand massage. Fluffy EC ness. Christine's POV. Review S'il vous plaît please.
1. An Idea

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. So sorry to disappoint you.

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Chapter 1- An Idea

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Music. Sweet. Beautiful. Music. Christine awoke to the masterpiece that brushed her ears and kissed her soul. Sounds that were a language unto themselves. That spoke of misery, hope, and most of all love. This communication that was spoken without the necessity of words. Words are just the sweet aftertaste, but the music being the true main course to indulge in. This feast to the ears could only be produced from one man. Erik.

Christine readied herself for the day. Her body going through the motions of changing, brushing her hair, washing her face, but her mind was devoted only to the streams of euphoria that embraced her.

Glancing into the music room she noticed Erik swaying to the music. Slowly she moved foreword silently till they were only inches apart not wanting to disturb him and never wanting the music to end. Christine felt the music and her soul soar as it approached it's pinnacle when suddenly a familiar little melody began to play. Was that Mary had a little lamb? The alluring beauty was gone, replaced with the echoing sound of disgruntled chords as his fists slammed onto the keyboard. Frustrated he seethed, "I've been working on this peace for a while now and I just can't get this ending right!" He sat at the musical instrument fixedly glaring, alternating between wringing out and massaging his hands.

Christine winced at the amount of pressure and crushing force he used to accomplish this. What could she do to help him? Desperate to alleviate his mind, an idea began to form. Overjoyed at the thought she placed her hand on his broad shoulder. She felt him immediately become rigid to her touch. Still he was unaccustomed to human contact. When would he come to realize that she would never hurt him like "they" did? At that moment she made a promise to herself to never be the source of his pain. She could, no, would only bring him joy.

Slowly he turned to gaze at her. A look of remembrance overcame his features, "Christine... I've seen that look in your eyes before. They twinkle with an undertone of mischief and that sly smile is not helping either. Just what do you have in mind?" He smirked himself while his voice was still commanding yet sounded slightly worried.

Yes her eyes did illuminate with unspoken delight and excitement. "I have an idea!"

"So I've noticed." Responding to her exclamation.

"I know just the thing to help you. Stay here." Moving swiftly from the room she called over her shoulder, "Oh, and kindly remove you jacket and roll up you sleeves for me please." She turned to him before she left, a devious smile appearing on her face.

"Christine..." Erik replied in a cautionary tone. His visible eyebrow rising ever so slightly. Making a quick getaway to her room she neared the marble top vanity. An elegant and by the looks of it very expensive crystal jar with a solid gold cover sat waiting to be used. Picking it up ever so gently she made her way back to the music room. Erik was not at the bench. Before she could turn to look for him a warm breath was on the back of her neck and mingled with her hair. Closing her eyes she took in the scent that was uniquely Erik. Warm, rich, clean, fresh, masculine. Forever in her memory a lifetime could pass and never would she forget.

"So, mon ange, just what do you plan on doing to me?"


	2. Learning Of Erik's History and Love

Disclaimer: I have an "I Love Erik" pillow! No? Fine, nothing then :'(

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Chapter 2 - Musing and Masseuse

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Slowly she turned to behold him smiling. Smiling! Basking in the glory of her being able to accomplish such a feat. Taking her hand not holding the delicate crystal and gold jar, and placing it on the wide expanse of his back, she directed him to the plush maroon velvet wing chair that he preferred during the hours that he was not creating another great composition.

Sitting on the ottoman in front of him, and carefully placed it on the end table next to them, she opened the lid and withdrew the white substance onto her hands. Rubbing the concoction between her palms to warm it up, she noticed his rolled up sleeves. Well, his forearms to be precise. They were well shaped and strong looking. She recalled when he brought her down here he sang of the music of the night and held her gently in his powerful and yet tender embrace. Just looking at these limbs capable of crushing force, it was amazing that he knew just the right amount of strength to use when with her and was confidant that he would never harm her in anyway.

Yet the memories of when she removed his mask came to mind. How foolish she was to think that it was her place to remove it. That idea was both presuming and ill-considered on her part. Erik seemed to be two different people. The unmasked side of his face not matching the dashing well chiseled features of their counterpart. Immediately she felt regret for invading this man's privacy and learning secretes only trust and time would reveal. Trust. That's what needed to be rebuilt.

When Erik returned her two nights ago, after she had taken off his mask, he was pensive and solemn. The only words spoken between the two were of his name when she asked him. She knew an apology was necessary, but was late and she was tiered from the emotional events of the evening. Madam Giry was there outside her door and came to check on her and told Christine that Meg had explained that she had gone missing and instantly knew where she had gone and who with. The remainder of the evening was spent with the two women speaking of Erik, and Christine questioning her of his past and all the ballet instructor knew of him. After all knowledge was disclosed to her, tears streaked her face from the story of his life. A life no human should have ever experienced. Now an apology did not sound enough, but rather sounded frivolous, petty. What kind of person was she to cause him more pain than he already endured? Hadn't he had enough as it was?

She wanted to go to him at that very moment, but Madam Giry insisted she get her rest for the next morning and afternoon held rehearsal. She also made a point to mention Erik's temper and thought it best if Christine wait till the next night. Grudgingly she agreed, and Madam Giry promised to show her the way back.

His indignation the night before was in her head when she fell into a restless sleep. He had not purposed to push her away with such force, she was certain, but desperately wanted to be at a distance from her to shield her innocent eyes from his disfigured form. His exact word's were, "monster, loathsome gargoyle, repulsive carcass". How could he think of himself like that? She certainly did not. True, never before had she beheld such a sight, but really was it not how he was as a person that should matter? Not the outward appearance. Her father taught her that, and she would never forget it.

Still she knew deep down that he would never hurt her on purpose. If anything she felt safe with Erik. After all, how could he bring harm willfully when he loved her... Loved? The thought dawned on her. He did love her...


	3. Musing and Masseuse

Disclaimer: Hence the term 'FAN' fiction people!

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Chapter 3 - Musing and Masseuse

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When Christine finally arrived last night after rehearsals with the assistance of Madam Giry, Erik had insisted that she went to bed and get a good night's rest. The next morning he promised her they would speak. That sounded like an excellent idea for two reasons. The first being she still did not know how to express her thoughts or feelings to him yet. Christine was not ready to confront him when even she did not know how she felt yet. And secondly, since the night before held hardly any sleep do to dreams filled with her angel. Some good, of their singing together. Others nightmares, full of his past and what he went through. He was just a child! Tears of empathy consumed her and that was the condition she was in when she finally fell asleep. Raoul, and the distant memory of his saving her scarf from the cold grasp of the unfeeling ocean, also came to her in the night. She had finally had a chance to speak with him two nights ago. He had seemed so sincere, full of interest in her. Like nothing had changed the years they had been apart. A lot had changed. She had changed or rather grew up.

When Madam Giry spoke to her of Erik and all his past. The subject of Raoul also came up. She reminded Christine of the Vicomte's sudden interest of her after the gala. She was there and had seen Raoul walk past Christine during the rehearsal. Madam Giry had not hesitated to remind Christine of this as well. Yet, on the day of her arrival to the opera house, Erik had come to her, a lowly orphan. There was much to seriously consider.

No longer was she such a child as before. Her times spent with Raoul were of young love. A boy and a girl. Now she was not a girl, but a woman. Erik, reclining on the chair in front of her, had always treated her with love and respect. Especially during the difficult years of the loss of her father. Never absent when she needed him or called for him. He even helped to mold her voice to what it was today, and for this she would be forever indebted. True, he did misrepresent who he was, but didn't he now show her who he really was, taking an enormous risk of even loosing his life in revealing this knowledge to her? She could have gone to the authorities and told them where to find this infamous Phantom of the Opera, but she never would. How could she?

Perhaps Raoul had grown too, no longer a boy. She hoped he did. Christine did not want a boy for a husband. However as a Vicomte he had other people to keep him company. To be there for him at his every beck and call. Erik did not, only Madam Giry. Now her. Raoul wanted her, but Erik needed her. Contemplating Erik sitting ahead of her, and really looking at him, not just the outside but inside as well. He had seen and been through a lot, never really even having a proper childhood. These experiences did not crush him as they would most people, if anything they made him a stronger person. He was without question not a boy. No. Erik was Man.

"Christine? Did you hear what I just asked you?" He said breaking her from line of reasoning.

"Me pardonner mon Erik, come again?" She said, embarrassed that not a single word of his fell upon her ears. Instead her musings taking over her senses. Ever so slightly her cheeks were tinged with pink.

"I said, what do you plan to do with that lotion I bought for you? I believe, mon cher, that it is more than warmed enough by now, don't you agree?" Teasingly his eyes smiled and betrayed his calm visage. She knew that he was aware of just what her planes were. Well, he was a genius after all.

Chiding him with a smile she retorted, "Oh, I do, monsieur, believe you know perfectly well just what it is I plan to do! I am about to give you the best hand massage you have ever had in your life, to relax you and take your mind off your music a bit. You know, sometimes a little break can do wonders."

"Well then, I am looking quite foreword to this. I'm sure it will be the best massage considering I've never had one before." She could see by the dispirit look that he wore on his face due to the poor choice of words she had used. Of course he had never had a massage. This was the man that instead of massages received beatings. A glossy layer of dampness began to cover her eyes. Now was not the time to cry. She had an apology to make, even though she was still not quite sure how to come about and say it.

Blinking back her tears before he could see them, she made an effort to lighten the mood and clear the silence. "Well then, It's better late than never." The corner of her mouth moved slightly and so did his.

After the moment of lull had passed he said, "Tell me Christine, how exactly did you become an expert at massage?"

"To put it simply, when I would travel with my father form one violin and singing job to another, his hands would hurt. Especially after some of the longer performances, like festivals. So, one night when we were done, I noticed him rubbing his hands in unique rhythmic motions that he repeated on each finger and asked him what it was he was doing. I was very young at the time and had never seen anyone do this. So, he told me and I asked him to show me. So he did. It has come in handy. After ballet rehearsals my muscles ached and since I knew the proper way to massage my calves and feet I would. Some of the other ballet girls heard of my technique, and for a frank or two I would help them out as well. You know," she said with a thoughtful pause, "if I don't make it as a singer, I could always be a masseuse!"

A deep melodic sound emitted from the back of his throat, his body shaking ever so slightly. She realized he was laughing! Even his laugh was a breathtakingly beautiful song.

She stared at him. That was all she could do. Never had he ever been this happy before, it was undeniable from the look in his eyes. In them she could see devotion and love in those beautiful green eyes. They had the spectrum from the lightest shad of jade green to a deep fiery emerald, and within the short amount of time she was with him, she had experienced them all. How she could spend the rest of her life like this, gazing into those eyes. The rest of her life? Where did that come from?

Erik cleared his throat, "I suppose you could, but in order to decipher that, mon innocent, I'd have to experience it first."

"Hmm? Oh, Right." For a split second when he first spoke, she thought he had could hear her thoughts aloud. Relax Christine. Sheepishly reaching for his right hand she hesitated for a moment. Maybe she shouldn't do this. Massaging a man's hands seemed rather personal, especially since they finally meet in person only forty-eight hours ago. Christine reasoned with herself that she had held his hand all the way down to his home. While he sang to her hadn't she caressed his face, and the next morning as well. That was much more close than a silly hand massage. Deciding to just move on with it before she lost her nerve again, she reached out closing the final gap of distance between them and grasped his hand in hers.

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A/N "Me pardonner mon Erik" or Forgive me my Erik. 


	4. Apologies, Realizations and a Massage

Disclaimer: I am but a humble Phan.

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Chapter 4 - Apologies, Realizations and a Massage

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Slowly, firmly she began massaging his right hand, going over every muscle, bone, inch of his skin, careful not to miss anything. Working her hands up to his wrist and forearm, she could feel the tension melt away. Resting his head back on the chair and as if to affirm her suspicions, he exhaled a soft moan and she'd seen his eyes roll back into his head and his eyelids shut, blocking the incandescent emeralds from view by a curtain of thick, dark lashes.

It was now or never. The mood was set, a perfect time to apologize for her actions. At this moment, still unsure of what to say, she dove in hoping it would not go wrong so long as it came from her heart.

Quietly she called out his name, "Erik."

"Mmm?" Was his only response. She could tell he was engulfed by the flowing dance her hands were performing. His hands serving as the stage.

Christine began making amends, "I'm Sorry, about the other night. It was none of my business. You gave me your trust and I betrayed you, for that I implore your forgiveness from the bottom of my heart." There she had said it. Perhaps not as eloquent as she would have liked, but nonetheless it was done.

She had suspected by his cheerful demeanor, that he was just happy she had returned back to him willingly, choosing to forgive her shortcoming. Still she had this weighing on her mind and wanted to get it out in the open. No longer would there be secretes between them.

The tension quickly came back into his body, she could feel his muscles tighten under in her hands. Silently a single tear fell from the corner of his left eye, only to be matched a second later by one descending on his right jaw. The mask hiding the path it had taken to get there.

Without opening his eyes, he spoke, "Are you Christine? Or are you sorry for what you have seen? Sorry that the right side of my face does not reflect my left? I don't want your pity!" He spat out the word pity as if it were a foul invective.

"Erik that's not what I meant and you know it." The massage ceased, still sitting there holding his hand, watching as more tears cascaded from his long lashes. She certainly had not meant to dishearten him further. This was not going well. What could she say to make him understand?

"What of your Vicomte, Christine? Would you not rather be touching his hands, than these of a monster?" Now his eyes were wide open. His piercing eyes glowered at her. Sea green, and by the looks of it, just as cold.

Christine wanting to shiver at the view in those below freezing orbs as he regarded her. She almost did, instead choosing to deeply reflect over the words he had just spoken. What of Raoul? Would she rather be holding the hand of her childhood sweetheart? Or was that all it was? Something from childhood, from the past? It was obvious he was still interested in her after all these years by coming to her dressing room and asking her to diner. The question was did she still feel the same? Would his touch send thrilling currants of energy that made her come to life the way Erik's touch did? Wait, hadn't he hugged her? It seemed to be a cloudy and vague memory now. She could barely remember the feel of her in his arms. Were loving and warm? Would those limbs be attentive to her needs? Could she take up dominion there and reside forever in those well defined muscular arms that seemed built to encase her form perfectly. Did she feel secure, and protected when he enveloped her in his robust embrace? If it was that way she surely would have remembered it! Did she commit his scent to memory as well? What color eyes did he have? Blue maybe? If it was blue they were of a lighter shade. Why could she not remember? Christine had known Raoul for some time now. They had been best friends before she knew Meg. Yes, she hadn't seen him in a while, but couldn't she at least remember the color of his eyes?

Just now it was becoming known to Christine whom her heart belonged to. Would she have to courage to face these feelings herself? Could she reveal this newfound discovery to Erik? She knew along with the admission to how she truly felt, would also come the responsibility of being so much more to Erik than a mere friend. He would want more. He deserved more. Weighing her thoughts and words more carefully than she had ever done in her life, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Exhaling slowly she opened them and began to speak.

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	5. Music Sweet Beautiful Music

Disclaimer: Like you still need to ask?

Well, here it is, the last chapter. I hope everyone liked reading it as much as I liked writing it. Thanks again to anyone who reviewed! Enjoy!

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Chapter 5 - Music. Sweet. Beautiful. Music.

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Weighing her thoughts and words more carefully than she had ever done in her life, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Exhaling slowly she opened them and began to speak.

"That was a long time ago, Erik. People change. I've changed." Christine still had Erik's hand in her own. She began the massage again while her explanation continued. "We were but only children then. I do believe that is how I shall always see Raoul, even now, as the childhood friend I once had. I have grown since then and a boy does not interest me any longer and when I do marry it will be, most certainly, not with one."

As she spoke she searched deep in his eyes, no longer cold but aflame with something she had never seen there before. The intensity in his view caused her to look away back at his hands. Both hands were such fascinating works of art. She abandoned his right hand in favor for his left one. She looked down at the ring less finger on his left hand. Her favorite appendage, she suddenly decided, out of all the other fingers, was his left ring finger. Christine could imagine the gold band adorned on his finger, beautifying it more so than the other nine.

Looking back at him she finished her thought still holding his ring finger. "Raoul was from a time in my life that no longer exists." Christine seemed to look past Erik recalling distant memories long forgotten. Some were happy. Others still painful to recollect like the death of her father, and being left alone in the world. Raoul seemed to bring back these buried recollections best left abandoned. She went on, "I have a new life now." Christine was astounded by her action, she couldn't believe she had actually given his hand a light squeeze then. As if her own hands had a mind of their own. However the look Erik gave her, after feeling her fingers wrap around his ring finger, was a knowing one.

She had noticed his eyes drift to his marriage finger and she promptly began working on the next digit. "It's funny you know." She stated.

He was visibly calming once again "What is, Mon belle précieux l'un?"

"Well it is true that Raoul and I were friends that summer years ago before I had ever known you, but you've known me since then up to now, for _years_. If you think about it, I do believe you know me better than he ever has, and I just met you the night before last. He knew me as Little Lottie who liked riddles and frocks and picnics in the attic. You know my life is here, in this opera house, on stage and singing. I am Little Lottie no longer, but a young woman with hopes and dreams that are being fulfilled now, _here_. Don't you agree?"

"How could I argue with that line of reasoning, my dear."

Silence filled the candle lit music room once again. Erik went back to resting his head on the high back of the wing chair and closing his eyes. She could feel him relaxing once again under her touch. Happy that she had done the task she originally set out to accomplish, all she had left to do was wait and hope in time he would forgive her. All of a sudden she heard him speak two words that made her sigh with relief.

"Your forgiven."

Once he uttered those words that sounded as magnificent as one of Erik's compositions, she to began to relax. Despite the fact that she was the one giving the massage, mainly for Erik's enjoyment, and doing all the work, Christine was now also able to enjoy the soothing motions her hands were performing. His hands were strong and warm. A smile came to her face remembering the way they caressed the pipe organ, persuading it to produce the breathtaking melodies that came from the instrument with the gentlest touch. His music was of the most magnificent ever heard. Everything he had in him he used when playing. Oh, but the way he played was where you could see the love pour out through his fingers and onto the keyboard, his hands fitting so well as if they were a part of this instrument.

"How?" The minuets of silence were once again obliterated with the utterance of her one spoken word.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't understand. 'How' what?"

Not meaning to vocalize her thought, and certainly not thinking he would hear her once it did slip out. _She_ could faintly hear what she had said. Deciding to confess her innermost thoughts to him, she said, "How do you do it? Not just composing, but the way you play is just as fascinating to watch as it is to hear. Your hand are doing this complex and elaborate ballet known only unto themselves and never to be duplicated by any other extremities. If you were to never speak again, I would now what you were saying by the language, the depth of emotion that your hands speak ever so clearly. If I were to never hear again, I know I could still feel and hear the music simply by watching your hands. How do you play with so much passion and sentiment. Does it not exhaust you to perform the way you do? How do you do it, Erik? _How_?"

A look of amazement overcame his features as he marveled at her. Slowly before she had known what had happened, he held her hands in his. His mouth hung ever so slightly open, lips parted. She could feel his warm breath, as his head descended from the chair coming closer to her, it became labored. His eyes were ablaze, burning as strong as a wildfire in the middle of a summers drought. Filled with what she had seen earlier, then not knowing what that look was before, now she was becoming much more certain what it was, because she too was returning the all-consuming torrid gaze.

He surveyed her as if searching for answers to his unspoken questions. Just what was he looking for, she wondered. Did he doubt what she said? He was so deep in thought, she could see him fighting an inner battle. Finally his eyes softened somewhat, as if the battle was over, a decision made.

Christine leaned nearer to him, and Erik moved even closer to her, a small amount of space separated them. Her heart pounding so loudly in her ears, she was afraid he would hear it as well. For a moment she thought that he was going to act on whatever his decision was, but instead he spoke. His utterance low and deep, as if he barely trusted his voice. She expected words of love and devotion to come from his full lips, still agape.

"I do believe your right. This is the best hand massage I've ever had." Removing a red rose with a black ribbon tied to it's stem from his inner vest pocket, he traced the velvety crimson petals along her jaw and cheek. "A small payment for your services, mon amour."

"My full payment, Erik, can only come when you finish that song you were working on."

"Then I suppose I still owe you a song." He rose from the armchair still holding her hand, leading her the short distance back to the organ.  
Slowly her heart beat stabilized back to normal, but something else filled her chest. Disappointment. Sure she was a little nervous by his powerful presence, but this empty feeling that lingered was much worse than ones of anticipation. What was he scared of? Christine knew of his strong feeling for her. After all 'Music of the Night' was a love song written for her alone. Erik was capable of such feeling and emotion in his music and voice, but away from those forms of expression he was shy and unsure of himself. We'll have to work on that. A sly smirk came to her face as she contemplated the future with the man now seated at the bench.

Erik made room for Christine to sit next to him. "Well mon inspiration, shall we see if your idea worked?"

The air was filled once again with the same melody of when she awoke. This time when the apogee approached she closed her eyes and secretly hoped that the classical rendition of the popular children's song would not be there. Much to her delight it was not. He finally found what he was looking for in the pinnacle of that song. She could hear the love he so desperately wanted to show her just moments earlier. She could almost feel him embracing her through the music. Perhaps the massage was the right inspiration to help him accomplish his work. In the meantime she was able to discover the truth of her feelings, and share them with Erik. Well, the ones she was willing to vocalize. Later on she would tell him of all she felt. No more secrets between them. Smiling once more taking pride in the small way she helped to bring to life this new masterpiece of his. Christine hoped their life together would be like this song. Full of love and happiness, but for now she would have to be content with what she did have.

For all that remained was music. _Sweet. Beautiful. Music. _

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A/N: "My beautiful precious one." 


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